


Like Rain in the Sunshine

by BabylonsFall



Category: The Librarians (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Study, Fluff, Getting Together, M/M, Minor Angst, Romantic Fluff, kind of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-04
Updated: 2019-01-04
Packaged: 2019-10-04 03:00:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,723
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17296472
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BabylonsFall/pseuds/BabylonsFall
Summary: Jacob Stone loves quick. Loves hard.He loves Ezekiel Jones, and he wouldn’t have it any other way.





	Like Rain in the Sunshine

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know anymore. It's sap. I have no excuse. And the only regret I have is that it's not longer.
> 
> Hope you like it!

People have called Jacob a flirt. A tease. A playboy.

And those’re the nice ones.

The _really_ nice ones will dress it up a bit better. Saying he loves quick, loves hard.

And then hope he doesn’t hear the inevitable addition: _and leaves ‘em just as fast_.

He’s never thought it really...fair.

Because they’re right. He _does_ love fast. Falls hard for a pretty laugh and a sweet smile. Finds himself spinning on his heel for bright eyes and a sharp tongue. Gives away pieces of his heart for gentle hands and strong arms.

But just because he does, doesn’t make it mean any less. Not to him, and, he likes to think, not to the people he’s fallen for.

Oh, he’s had his heart broken plenty. Had his fill of loud fights and quiet hurts, because they’re hard to avoid when you burn hot, burn fast. But he’s never walked away from someone thinking he’d have been better without. Not once. And it’s a point of personal pride—he never wants to leave someone thinking he was a waste. He can’t guarantee it, but he’s pretty sure he’s been successful.

He hopes he has.

* * *

Jacob likes flirting, he’ll own that.

Likes smiles that start sweet and twist dirty. Likes bubbly laughter that fills him to the brim. Likes words that flow fast and sweet, blanketing space between people, even if only for a second—a mutual acknowledgement of a spark, even if that’s all it is.

It’s fun, and as long as everyone walks away with a smile, there’s no harm done.

* * *

It takes him a while to realize what he’s doing. It’s so off script that he cuts himself a little bit of slack at least—right after he’s done metaphorically smacking his head against the wall. (And maybe after repeating the action, not so metaphorically.)

Him and Ezekiel snark. Back and forth. All damn day long. No bite to it, laughter crinkling the corners of Ezekiel’s eyes and a smile threatening to crack his own scowl.

It’s like breathing, by the time he notices it. And that wouldn’t send him into a tizzy, honestly. It’s fun, keeps them both focused on what’s going on (no matter what Baird says), and as long as they shut up about the time magic or arrows (or magic arrows) start flying, there’s no harm.

And then he catches himself thinking about it. Wondering how to phrase the next barb to finally bring that ghost of a laugh to life. Figuring out how to make Ezekiel stop because what Jacob’s just said is fucking ridiculous and that needs to be pointed out _right this second_. As soon as he’s done laughing.

He catches himself.

Rolls it over in his head for a little while.

But he’s always been a sucker for a sparkling laugh. And Ezekiel’s is like rain in the sunshine, all startled glitter and gentle heat.

He catches himself, and keeps going.

* * *

Falling is easy. It’s the easiest thing in the world. And if Jacob didn’t hate rollercoasters with his entire being, he might compare it to how he’s heard others describe them.

A swoop to his stomach. Bubbling laughter in the face of something terrifying but (generally) safe. Nervous energy spilling out at the chance, that stupid, unreal chance that this one will be the one everyone else talks about to warn others off.

And yeah, some of his falls have been that. Pure freefall, saved from a crash at the last second, and all the more exhilarating for it.

But he’s had enough time, enough distance, to appreciate the slow slide into comfortable understanding as well. Looking over one day, seeing the sun glint just right, and knowing, deep in his chest, that something’s finally settled. Trading sun-sweet kisses with the knowledge that something has flipped between them.

* * *

He holds to this day that he didn’t fall. He tripped. Stumbled. Tangled and collapsed and fell and fell and fell.

There wasn’t one moment, one shift.

One day, he’s perched on the stairs, watching Ezekiel argue with Cassandra, and he can feel the stupid smile on his face, can’t figure out a reason to stop it. There’s an ache in his chest, an awareness he hasn’t been able to put into focus, that suddenly snaps and leaves him breathless about the same time Ezekiel breaks into a brat of a smile and Cassandra throws up her hands, even as she’s fighting back a laugh.

_Oh._

And he thinks that’ll be the end of it.

They haven’t been doing this...thing, between them, for very long. But it’s not the fastest he’s fallen, and it’s certainly not the slowest.

The knowledge sits heavy, just beneath his ribs, comforting and warm, now that he can put a name to it. And when Ezekiel turns that smile his way, the edges going soft and his eyes bright, Jacob can’t help but lean back on the steps, and smile back.

It keeps happening.

Ezekiel comes tumbling through the back door, crowing about a successful mission, and Jacob takes in flyaway hair and rumpled clothes, reading the story that comes with heavy breathing and dust stained clothes, cheeks smudged with dirt and denim knees fraying, and feels that ache in his chest again, sharp and clear.

And when Jacob doesn’t immediately congratulate him, the boasting gets out of hand, as it usually does, and Jacob has to put all his focus in returning the snarky jabs being thrown his way, even as he rounds his desk and slips over to where Ezekiel’s now pacing and and throwing his arms around. It’s a pretty simple matter to catch his thief, arms around his waist to pull him in close—a delightful thrill that his thief lets himself be caught so easily—and an even simpler matter to silence the building rant with a kiss that turns to smiles pressed close and laughter breaking them apart.

And if the ache in his chest is slowly shattering, well, that’s his problem.

By the third time—date night at his place, the two of them curled up on the couch, nothing special planned for the next day and nothing terrifying having sent them into each other's arms for the night, and the light from the tv is casting interesting shapes over Ezekiel’s face and Jacob just wants to watch him all night, memorizing the shadows and the curves and the twist of a smile so rare and sweet and broken through it takes all Jacob has not to ruin it with a kiss—he’s just accepted a simple truth.

He’ll never be done falling for Ezekiel.

And he doesn’t want to be.

* * *

Jacob loves quick.

Knows it’ll slip between his fingers as quickly as it came. His life never lent itself to long term partners, and he learned young to take what he could get and make the most of it. Puts his all into it, and then picks himself up in the aftermath, bittersweet kisses on his lips and genuine love in his heart that he knows will fade with time, but never really disappear.

* * *

He kind of hates himself, when he figures it out.

He’s holding his breath. He doesn’t know how long he’s been doing it, and he hates that even more.

Ezekiel’s a lightning strike waiting to happen. Darts in quick, leaves him breathless, his heart stuttering and aching, leaves quiet in his wake along with a trail of promising energy that’s as terrifying as it is thrilling.

Jacob spends so many nights, curled up under blankets, enjoying that quiet by pressing soft kisses into the delicate curve of Ezekiel’s shoulder, the knobs of his spine, reveling in the fact that he’s allowed to, and that, while Ezekiel will tease him mercilessly when he’s awake enough to hear and understand the words spilling from his mouth, he also won’t deny that they make his breath catch and he’ll never tell Jacob to stop.

He doesn’t know when those words turned desperate. Pleading.

But one night, he’s draped alongside a rare sight—Ezekiel, still, breathing slowly, head pillowed back on one arm, the other flung above his head, eyes closed even if they both know he’s not asleep—with one hand trailing defined muscle with a ghost of a touch that could turn ticklish—or burning—if Jacob felt like it.

But he really, really doesn’t.

He doesn’t want to break the quiet. Doesn’t want to disrupt the pale light sliding across the perfect stretch of skin in front of him.

Doesn’t want to lose this moment, if it’s his last.

The thought startles him hard enough that he has to pull his hand away, to keep from curling his fingers into soft skin and yielding muscle.

The yawning silence stretches between them, and Jacob realizes he’d been talking too, though for how long, he couldn’t say.

Vaguely remembers a sonnet filling the air not too long ago, chosen just to make Ezekiel roll his eyes. Then a badly concealed limerick to throw him off and get a laugh.

He has a sinking feeling, just behind his ribs, that his appreciation of this moment, his wish for it to last and last and last, hadn’t been as silent as he’d hoped.

He really doesn’t want to look up. Focuses instead on curling his fingers just under the curve of Ezekiel’s ribs, fingers slotting there easily, feeling the rise and fall of breathing just as easy as it’d been a few minutes ago.

It’s how he knows everything had spilled out. How he knows that, if he looked up, Ezekiel would be watching him, eyes dark and heavy lidded.

He really doesn’t want to look up.

Ezekiel doesn’t seem to care. Instead, Jacob finds his hand being caught, long fingers—calloused at the joints and almost imperceptibly scarred except to the touch—curling around his, bringing it up to Ezekiel’s face, and he can do nothing but follow the motion.

There’s a bright sparkle to his eyes, even with the sorrow souring the edges of his smile.

“I’m not going anywhere, cowboy. Are you?”

Jacob is helpless to do anything but shake his head, words caught heavy in his throat, even as he surges up to press a kiss to a smile turning sharp and so, so lovely.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! Comments and kudos are always loved and so appreciated y'all, you have no idea


End file.
